Fidelio
by waistcoat35
Summary: ClassicaLoid fic. (Set in the 1800s) Based on a report that Schubert sold his books just to afford a ticket to the opening of Beethoven's revised opera Fidelio. When attending the first performance of the revised edition of his opera, Beethoven finds himself seated next to a rather intriguing young man.


Beethoven didn't know why he was here, in all honesty. He had tried and tried to keep out of public view lately - he could not have people noticing and learning of his rapidly deteriorating condition. However much he told himself otherwise, he couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed - Vienna's greatest composer, reduced to this.

Still, people were beginning to wonder of his absence and he had had several coming to his residence and enquiringly after him, so he supposed he had better resurface briefly - after all, it was the premiere night of the revised edition of his first and only opera. He had to admit that he did occasionally miss conducting - he almost wished it were to be him walking up onto the stage to lead the opera tonight. But he had made his peace with his retirement into composing and that was that.

At least he could see for himself what people thought of the new edition - better than simply reading what those overzealous, pompous critics generally had to say...

Beethoven could afford a front-row seat if he so wished, or even have one simply offered to him on the house - but he chose to hang back in the farthest seats. It would unfortunately mean his chances of managing to hear the opera properly were rather low, but he knew how it should sound anyway - he'd spent long enough writing the thing. Besides, he was far less likely to be noticed in the back with the more everyday folk and visitors to Vienna.

As he waited for the opera to begin, a shorter man with tousled hair and crescent-moon spectacles took the seat next to him, paying him no attention - he seemed to be too busy intently watching the stage. He seemed slightly tensed, nervous even, as the conductor made his way onstage.

As the orchestra began to play, Beethoven couldn't help but glance sideways more often than not to catch a glimpse of the other man who was almost sitting on the edge of his seat, entranced. Beethoven could see a light dancing in his eyes that he rarely saw when he witnessed people hear his music -they would display evident signs of pleasure and smile, they would tell him how much they loved it, but almost never did one witness the eyes light up the way this man's had.

The time passed more quickly than he would have expected, and soon enough the intermission came up. Though it was not yet the end of the opera, there was a large wave of applause, with many people actually standing up to clap no matter what their usual air of dignity was.

The man beside him did so too - Beethoven realised that he thought he'd seen the man around before. He recalled catching a glimpse of him in a coffee house not so long ago, and seeing the young man's gaze flick over to him nervously every so often. He briefly considered rising from his seat and approaching the younger man, but just as Beethoven was about to do so he'd hurriedly gotten up and left.

Suddenly, somebody in front of the man cast their arm backwards as if to stretch, knocking him and causing him to stumble slightly, his glasses tumbling to the floor. The man gave a slight yelp of dismay, scrambling to retrieve them. As he looked around for them frantically, Beethoven spotted them first - they had slid just past his own seat and were glinting on the floor. He carefully reached down and picked them up, then turned to where the man was still searching. Clearing his throat slightly, Beethoven tapped him on the shoulder, waiting until he looked up and holding the spectacles out.

"I believe these belong to you."

The man nodded thankfully, face slightly reddened as he realised he was knelt on the floor, and rose once more into his seat. He took the glasses from Beethoven, and began to inspect them thoroughly. As he did so he replied.

"Many thanks to you for finding them, sir. I trust you are enjoying the opera as much as I have been?"

Beethoven suspected that due to losing his glasses the man couldn't recognise him as clearly, else he would have most likely behaved as he had in the coffee shop. He nodded.  
"I have found it... Interesting, yes."

The man was smiling again as he polished the spectacles on his sleeve, having finished ensuring there were no cracks or damage to them.  
"It's been brilliant. I must admit, I'm overjoyed that I could manage to attend - I've fallen on slightly harder times as of late, and I sold a number of my books so as to afford a ticket."

Beethoven raised his eyebrows, surprised to say the least. Trying not to sound too pleased, he replied, "You must be awfully eager to attend the opera." To which the younger shrugged slightly, replying: "I suppose - it has always been a source of enjoyment for me, but the real reason I was so desperate to attend is that I've always been inspired and somewhat captivated by the works of Herr van Beethoven"

Beethoven had to bite back a smile as the other man put his glasses back on, finally looking up. There was a slight spark in his eyes as his mouth opened, then closed, and eventually opened once more. "I- I - Mr van Beethoven! This - well, it's certainly a surprise, I-" He continued to stumble over his words, until Beethoven decided to give him some help. "May I ask your name, sir?"

The other man nodded. "Please excuse me, where are my manners? I am Franz Peter Schubert, sir. I left a few pieces at your residence in February - I apologise for not staying to speak with you myself, but my nerves - well, I'm afraid they got the better of me."

Beethoven nodded, giving a slight smile as a sign of reassurance. He recalled hearing the name previously, and looking over the work. "Ah, yes - I do recall it now. I have to say, your pieces show exceptional promise - I believe you will go on to do great things. Perhaps even become the Prince of Lieder. It is a pity you couldn't stay - I would have greatly liked to meet you before now, Schubert. "

Schubert flushed, and Beethoven found it almost endearing to see how proud the statement made him look - the man should receive such compliments more often. This man who had written such promising pieces and sold his books simply to attend one of Beethoven's concerts was somebody who Beethoven wanted to keep close - there was something about him that calmed Beethoven's usually wild nature, made him feel like he didn't have to be anything that wasn't simply himself as he usually was.

The intermission would continue for some time, and the opera house was in a fairly central location...  
"I say - Franz, would you care to come for a coffee?"


End file.
